Sicilian's Bride for a Price Read online

  She’ll be his wife...

  But at what cost?

  Billionaire Dante Vittori spent years building his impeccable reputation—no easy feat following his father’s incarceration. To counter a business threat, ruthless Dante must do the unthinkable—get married! Free-spirited heiress Alisha will do anything to save her mother’s charity—even marry the man she hates. But neither expects the intense heat between them! Suddenly the price of their marriage is more than they bargained for...

  Get swept away by this intense and emotional marriage of convenience!

  A bright energy infused her veins. For the first time in her life, there was someone who understood her, who encouraged her. On an impulse, she threw herself at him. Arms wrapped around his neck, she pressed a hard kiss to his cheek. It lasted only a few seconds, half a minute at the most.

  And yet, she couldn’t forget the steely cage of his arms around her waist.

  Pulling away, she refused to look at him.

  In her wardrobe, she pulled out a knee-length, sleeveless cream silk dress, one of the classiest creations she’d ever seen.

  The dress slithered over her skin with a soft whisper. But she couldn’t get the back zipper all the way.

  Face frozen into an unaffected smile, she walked back out and presented her back to him. “Zip me up.”

  An aeon seemed to pass before he tugged the zipper up, and another eternity when the pads of his fingers lingered on the nape of her neck.

  “Do I look good enough to be Mrs. Vittori now?”

  Conveniently Wed!

  Conveniently wedded, passionately bedded!

  Whether there’s a debt to be paid, a will to be obeyed or a business to be saved...she’s got no choice but to say, “I do!”

  But these billionaire bridegrooms have got another think coming if they imagine marriage will be that easy...

  Soon their convenient brides become the objects of inconvenient desire!

  Find out what happens after the vows in:

  Imprisoned by the Greek’s Ring by Caitlin Crews

  Desert Prince’s Stolen Bride by Kate Hewitt

  Blackmailed by the Greek’s Vows by Tara Pammi

  Bound to Her Desert Captor by Michelle Conder

  The Greek’s Bought Bride by Sharon Kendrick

  Claiming His Wedding Night Consequence by Abby Green

  Bound by a One-Night Vow by Melanie Milburne

  Look out for more Conveniently Wed! stories coming soon!

  Tara Pammi

  Sicilian’s Bride for a Price

  Tara Pammi can’t remember a moment when she wasn’t lost in a book—especially a romance, which was much more exciting than a mathematics textbook at school. Years later, Tara’s wild imagination and love for the written word revealed what she really wanted to do. Now she pairs alpha males who think they know everything with strong women who knock that theory and them off their feet!

  Books by Tara Pammi

  Harlequin Presents

  The Sheikh’s Pregnant Prisoner

  Conveniently Wed!

  Bought with the Italian’s Ring

  Blackmailed by the Greek’s Vows

  The Drakon Royals

  Crowned for the Drakon Legacy

  The Drakon Baby Bargain

  His Drakon Runaway Bride

  Brides for Billionaires

  Married for the Sheikh’s Duty

  The Legendary Conti Brothers

  The Surprise Conti Child

  The Unwanted Conti Bride

  Greek Tycoons Tamed

  Claimed for His Duty

  Bought for Her Innocence

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  For my very own hero, my husband, Raghu. Twenty is nothing—I could write a hundred heroes inspired by you.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EXCERPT FROM HER FORGOTTEN LOVER'S HEIR BY ANNIE WEST

  CHAPTER ONE

  DANTE VITTORI STARED at the legal document that had been delivered an hour ago. The floor-to-ceiling glass windows that made up three whole sides of his office on the forty-sixth floor of Matta Towers in Central London cast the luxurious space in an orange glow, thanks to the setting sun behind him.

  Vikram Matta—his mentor Neel Matta’s son and Dante’s best friend—was now legally dead.

  He felt a twinge in his chest for exactly one minute.

  He’d learned that grief, like regret, was a useless emotion. He’d learned this at the age of thirteen when his father had killed himself instead of facing lifelong incarceration for his Ponzi scheme that had fleeced hundreds of people. He’d learned this when his mother had simply changed her name back to her Sicilian father’s and married a man he approved of within a year of his father’s death.

  Giving in to his emotions would have crushed Dante back then. Vikram was gone; he’d made his peace with it a long time ago.

  Quickly, he rifled through the documents, to ensure he hadn’t missed anything.

  He was almost to the last couple of pages when he stilled.

  Voting Shares of the Deceased

  The hairs at the back of his neck prickled. His mind instantly rewound back to the conversation he and Vikram had had with Neel when Neel had found he hadn’t much time to live.

  Neel Matta had started Matta Steel, a small steel manufacturing business, almost forty years ago, but it was Dante who had grown it into the billion-dollar conglomerate it was now. Against his own brother, Nitin’s wishes, for the first time in the history of the company, Neel had granted his own voting shares to Dante, an outsider.

  He had made Dante a part of his family. And now Matta Steel was the blood in his veins, his mistress, his everything.

  Instead of wasting time grieving after Neel’s death and Vikram’s horrific plane crash, Dante had taken the company from strength to strength, cementing his position as the CEO.

  But with Vikram’s voting shares being up for grabs now...

  His secretary, Izzy, came into the office without knocking. Being another alum of Neel Matta’s generosity, Izzy took for granted a certain personal privilege with Dante that he didn’t allow anyone else. Neither did he doubt that she’d interrupted him for a good reason.

  The redhead’s gaze flew to the papers in front of him, clear distress in those green eyes for a moment. But when she met his gaze, she was the consummate professional.

  Of course Vikram’s death had touched her too, but like him, Izzy was nothing if not practical.

  Pushing his chair back, he laced his fingers at the back of his neck and said, “Spill it.”

  “I heard from Nitin’s secretary, Norma, that he’s thinking of calling an emergency board meeting with special counsel present.”

  Neel’s brother was so predictable in his greed and deception. “I was expecting that.”

  “I wasn’t sure if you had realized it has to do with Vicky’s voting shares being up for grabs now.”

>   “I did.” Izzy was both competent and brilliant. And utterly loyal to him. The one quality he knew he couldn’t buy even with his billions. “Tell me your thoughts.”

  She took a seat and opened her notebook. “I pressed a little on Norma and learned that he means to go over the bylaws in front of the board and direct the conclusion that Vikram’s shares—” an infinitesimal catch in her throat again “—should go to him, since the bylaws state that the voting shares are to be kept in the family.”

  “Except when Neel modified them to grant me his shares.” They had been a gift when Dante had made a big business win. Neel had been paving his way into retirement, wanting to slow down and let Dante take over. Instead his heart disease had killed him in a matter of months.

  “He means to censure that as an aberration on Neel’s part due to his ailing health.”

  Dante smiled. “It’s an allegation he’s continued to make for nigh on ten years now, even though I have held the controlling stake in the company.”

  “Also, he’s conveniently forgotten Ali.”

  For the first time in years, Dante found his thoughts in sudden disarray.

  His mentor’s rebel daughter had always been the one thorn in his rise to success. The one piece of trouble in Neel’s life that Dante hadn’t solved for the man he’d worshipped. The one element he’d never quite figured out properly.

  “No, he hasn’t.” Alisha’s scorn for her father’s company wasn’t a secret.

  He stood up from his seat. London’s night was glittering into life all around them. “Nitin’s counting on Ali simply refusing to have anything to do with the company, as always. Which means he can inherit all of Vikram’s shares.”

  “Can’t you contest that?”

  “I can, but if he gets the board on his side and they rule that the shares go to him, there’s not a lot I can do. He’d own the majority. Unless I got...” He trailed off, an idea occurring to him. “Nitin needs to be taught the lesson that I own Matta Steel. Irrevocably.”

  “I’m assuming you’ve already come up with a plan for that.”

  He had. A brilliant one. He hadn’t put his heart and blood and soul into Matta Steel just so he’d have to defend it every other year.

  Again, that twinge of doubt pulled at his chest. He flicked it away. There was no room for emotions in his decision. The only thing he would never violate was Neel’s trust in him—and that meant keeping control of Matta Steel.

  Alisha had never wanted to be a part of her papa’s legacy. She had turned her back on everything to do with the company and Neel and even Vikram when he’d been alive.

  She’d had nothing but resentment for Dante for as long as he could remember. And he would feel no compunction in taking the things he wanted—the things that she scorned anyway—off her hands, forever.

  All he needed was leverage.

  Everyone had a price and he just needed to find Ali’s. “Find out where she’s holed up now. She could be anywhere.”

  Izzy jerked her head up, shock dancing in her green eyes. “Ali?”

  There was reluctance, maybe even unwillingness in her stare.

  “Yes. Find Alisha,” he said, simply dismissing the unasked question in Izzy’s eyes. He pulled his jacket on and checked his phone. No reason for him to miss out on his date with the latest Broadway actress touring London.

  He reached the door and then turned. “Oh, also, call that PI for me, won’t you? I want to have a little chat with him.”

  “Which one?”

  “The one I have on my payroll to keep track of Alisha’s movements.”

  “But you never look at his reports.” Izzy’s accusation was clear. He’d never given a damn about Alisha except to have someone keep an eye on her, for the purpose of extricating her if she got herself into trouble.

  For Neel’s sake.

  “I didn’t need to, until now. She’s been safe, mostly, si?” It was a miracle in itself, since she traveled through all the hellholes of the world in the name of her little hobby. Izzy didn’t need to know he read every single one of those reports. On any given day, he knew how and where Alisha was. “Now, however, I need a little bit more info on her.”

  “Dante—”

  “None of your business, Isabel.” He cut her off smoothly and closed the door behind him.

  Izzy had been the one constant person in his life for so long, from the moment he had come to live with Neel all those years ago, yes. But it didn’t mean he invited her into his private thoughts or that he considered her a personal friend.

  Dante Vittori didn’t do relationships, of any kind.

  * * *

  “There’s someone here to see you, Ali.”

  Alisha Matta looked up from her crouch on the floor of the Grand Empire Palace restaurant. Her shoulders were tight from supporting the weight of the camera and her thighs burned at her continued position. Ignoring her friend Mak’s voice, she kept clicking.

  She’d been waiting all morning in the small kitchen of the crowded restaurant, waiting for Kiki to come home.

  The pop of the flash of her Nikon sang through her nerves, the few moments of clarity and purpose making the wait of the last three months utterly worth it. “To your right, look into the camera. No, jut your left hip out, you’re gorgeous, Kiki,” she continued the words of encouragement. She’d managed to learn a little Thai in the last year but her stuttering accent had only made Kiki laugh.

  The neon lights and the cheap pink linoleum floors became the perfect background as Kiki shed her jeans and shirt in a move that was both efficient and sensual as hell. Her lithe dancer’s body sang for the camera.

  But even the perfection of the shot couldn’t stop the distraction of Mak hovering.

  “If it’s John, tell him we’re done,” she whispered.

  “It’s an Italian gentleman. In a three-piece Tom Ford suit that I’m pretty sure is custom designed and black handmade Italian loafers. Gucci, I think.”

  Ali fell back onto her haunches with a soft thud, hanging on to her expensive camera for dear life. Mak was crazy about designer duds. There was only one Italian gentleman she knew. Except, if it was who she thought it was, he shouldn’t be called a gentleman. More a ruthless soul in the garb of one.

  “Said his name was...”

  Ali’s heart thudded in tune with the loud blare of the boom box. “What, Mak?”

  Mak scrunched his brow. “You know, the guy who wrote about all those circles of hell, that one.”

  “Dante,” Ali whispered the word softly. How appropriate that Mak would mention Dante and hell in the same sentence.

  Because that was what her papa’s protégé represented to her.

  The very devil from hell.

  Princesses in glass castles shouldn’t throw stones, bella.

  Okay, yes, devil was a bit overboard because he hadn’t actually ever harmed Ali, but still, Ali hated him.

  So what was the devil, whose usual playground was the London social circuit, doing on the other side of the world in Bangkok?

  The last time they had laid eyes on each other had been when she’d learned of Vikram’s plane crash. She closed her eyes, fighting the memory of the disastrous night, but it came anyway.

  She’d been so full of rage, so vulnerable and so vicious toward Dante. For no reason except that he was alive while her brother was gone. Gone before she could reconnect with him.

  “He doesn’t look like he’s happy to be kept waiting,” Mak interrupted her trip down a nightmarish memory lane.

  Ali pulled herself up.

  No, super busy billionaire Dante Vittori wouldn’t like waiting in the ramshackle hotel. How impatient he must be to get back to his empire. To his billions.

  How dare Ali keep him waiting while each minute of his time could mean another deal he could broker, another billion he c
ould add to his pile, another company he... She smiled wide.

  She’d make him wait.

  Because Dante being here meant only one thing: he needed something from her.

  And she would jump through those nine circles of hell before she did anything that made his life easier. Or calmer. Or richer.

  Slowly, with shaking fingers, she packed up her camera. She pulled the strap of the bag over her shoulder, picked up her other paraphernalia, kissed Kiki’s cheek and pushed the back door open.

  The late September evening was balmy, noisy and full of delicious smells emanating from all the restaurants that lined up the street.

  Her stomach growled. She promised herself some authentic pad thai and a cold can of Coke as soon as she got to her flat. Thwarting Dante and a well-earned dinner suddenly seemed like a highly pleasurable way to spend her day.

  Just as she took another step into the busy street, a black chauffeur-driven Mercedes pulled up, blocking her. Ali blinked at her reflection in the polished glass of the window when the door opened. Out stepped Dante.

  In his crisp white shirt, which did wonders for his olive complexion, and tailored black pants, he looked like he’d stepped out of a GQ magazine cover and casually strolled into the colorful street.

  His Patek Philippe watch—a gift from her father when he’d welcomed Dante onto the board of Matta Steel, yet one more thing Papa had given Dante and not her—gleamed on his wrist as he stood leaning carelessly against the door, a silky smile curving that sculpted mouth. “Running away again, Alisha?”

  He was the only one who insisted on calling her Alisha. Somehow he managed to fill it with reprimand and contempt.

  All thoughts of pad thai were replaced with the cold burn of resentment as that penetrating gaze took in her white spaghetti strap top and forest green shorts and traveled from her feet in flip-flops to her hair bunched into a messy bun on top of her head. It was dismissive and yet so thorough that her skin prickled.

  Chin tilted, Ali stared right back. She coated it in defiance but after so long, she was greedy for the sight of him. Shouts from street vendors and the evening bustle faded out.